


Serendipity

by mahoni



Category: Bandom, Magnificent Seven (TV), My Chemical Romance
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Western, Crossover/Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-08
Updated: 2010-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahoni/pseuds/mahoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josiah takes a few moments during a brawl to welcome a stranger to town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serendipity

The rancher was a bear of a man, which was the only reason he managed to stagger Josiah hard enough to plow him backwards into the bar. Josiah's breath whooshed out of him and his back twinged ferociously. It was possible he was getting a bit too old for this sort of thing. Or possible that a saloon brawl was not the wisest way to end a full day spent shingling a roof.

The ranch hand reared back and swung; Josiah ducked the fist, groping around the bar behind him until a heavy mug was pressed into his hand. Two good smacks with the mug upside the head toppled the son of a bitch right over.

And the mug was still in one piece at the end of it. Josiah examined it appreciatively. Got to hand it to old Jessup. He may water his whiskey, but he did not skimp on the glassware used to serve it.

"Thank you, son." Josiah gave the young man slouched against the bar a smile and offered the mug back to him.

The youngster gave him a nod, but didn't take the mug. He was watching the brawl, mostly unimpressed; he could have been watching paint dry, but for the alertness in his blue eyes and the way he held his whiskey bottle tucked against his chest, safe from potential jostling.

"You can keep it." The blue eyes flicked briefly over Josiah's shoulder. "You might need it again."

On a hunch Josiah side-stepped and swung hard with the mug as he turned. The weasel who'd been coming up behind him reeled back, clutching his face as blood spurted from his nose.

"Much obliged again," Josiah said.

He surveyed the chaos, determined that his brothers in arms had things well under control, and settled back against the bar beside the young man to spectate a bit with him.

"Josiah Sanchez," he said, offering a hand.

The young man gave the hand an amused glance, but he clasped it briefly and shook. He had a solid handshake, dry and calloused and strong despite the slender, long fingers.

"Bob Bryar." He tilted the whiskey bottle in offering, and poured a shot into Josiah's mug when Josiah held it out.

"Mr. Bryar," Josiah said. He knocked back the shot and hissed in satisfaction. Jessup may water his whiskey, but Josiah suspected he did it for the good of his customers. Even watered the stuff seared a man's lungs. "You have chosen an interestin' day to visit our humble town."

Bryar raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying it's not always like this?"

The fray disgorged a couple of ranchers locked in a mutual attempt to throttle one another. Josiah grab one man's collar and planted a boot in his backside to redirect them back into the action.

"I admit it is a lively town," Josiah said. "But no, not always. We got a couple rival ranches hereabouts, and both are currently hiring anybody they can find to help on the drives to the Spring grazing grounds. Then they all come here to drink and fight because it's the only saloon for miles around."

A pair of brutes charged the bar. They weren't heading toward Josiah and his new friend, though. They aimed themselves at a clear section of the bar and hoisted a struggling bundle up and slammed it down onto the bar top.

The struggling bundle was Ezra. He got out an 'oof' before a meaty fist caught him in the gut and drove out his breath entirely.

Josiah weighed the spiritual benefits of helping versus letting Ezra fight his own fights; it was a true conundrum when it came to Ezra Standish. Not that Josiah liked to see Ezra hurt or believed in an angry God, but he did occasionally think a good whupping might do Ezra a bit of good.

Bryar apparently had no such questions to wrestle with. With a scowl and an "ah, hell," he knocked back a swallow of the whiskey and then wasted the rest by smashing the bottle over one of the rancher's heads. Then he picked up a bar stool and laid the second rancher flat with it.

Ezra tilted his head back where he lay, and blinked in surprise when he saw who'd taken out his attackers. Sitting up with a groan, arm braced against his stomach, he gave Bryar a gold-toothed smile.

"You have my gratitude, good sir." Cocking his head, Ezra gave Josiah a nod past Bryar. "Josiah."

Josiah toasted him with his empty mug. "Ezra. Fine Spring evenin' we're having, wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed." Ezra slid off the bar, paused just long enough to brush resignedly at the whiskey stain on the sleeve of his fine jacket, and then sucker-punched a rancher who staggered by. "I find the change of weather quite invigoratin'."

"Spring is the Lord's way of helping us feel alive and renewed," Josiah said.

Ezra grinned. "Really? I thought that was why He created poker."

Josiah shrugged amiably. "That too."

Pointing at the busted bar stool leg Bryar still had hold of, Ezra said, "Would you have any objection if I...?"

Bryar tossed it to him. "Help yourself."

Ezra stepped into the fray, shoving a few bodies aside to get close enough to bludgeon a man who had J.D. in a headlock.

"You just passing through," Josiah said to Bryar. "Or you out here looking for work?"

It took a moment of blank staring for Bryar to catch up and realize Josiah was picking up their interrupted conversation. But he rolled with it.

"Was thinking about looking for work." Bryar grimaced at the activity around them. The fight was starting to wind down, and there were unconscious lumps of drunk and bloody ranchers scattered here and there. "Out at one of the ranches." He shook his head. "I'm rethinking that plan, though."

"Good choice," Josiah said. "What's Plan B?"

"Well. I had a thing going with some friends out in California." He shrugged. "You know. Following the gold rush. Didn't work out. But I guess I could go back home."

He didn't sound too fond of that idea.

"What's back home?"

"I'm from Chicago, so." He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and hunched a little. "Slaughter houses."

Josiah wrinkled his nose. In Josiah's many travels, he'd passed through Chicago and spent a little time ministering in the less well-off parts of that great city. He saw and heard plenty, none of it good, from those who worked in the slaughter houses.

Before Josiah could commiserate, a small tussle a few feet away from them broke apart. Stuart James' ranch boss -- the ass who'd started the brawl -- scrambled back from Chris. Chris's face was bloodied and he was pissed the hell off; he looked not unlike Josiah supposed Hellspawn looked, so it was no wonder the ranch boss kept backing until he had a few good feet between them, and then pulled his gun.

He'd stopped well within arm's reach of Josiah, so Josiah sighed, reached out and grabbed the idiot's gun arm by the wrist.

"That was stupid," Josiah said.

He gave a good, hard, bone-crunching squeeze, and the man yelped and dropped the gun. Twisting the man's arm up his back and jerking him close, Josiah turned them both.

"Son, you don't mind giving me a hand here, do you?" he said to Bryar.

Bryar stared at Josiah and his captive, momentarily startled. He'd frozen at the drawn weapon, catching hold of the edge of the bar in a way that made Josiah suspect Bryar'd have been launching himself over it at the first shot -- a wise choice, in Josiah's humble opinion.

"Oh," Bryar said.

He let go of the bar and dropped a right hook on the ranch boss. The man sagged in Josiah's arms, and Josiah let him fall to the ground.

"Much obliged once again, friend," Josiah said to Bryar.

"I'd'a been much more obliged if you'd been doing more than standing here watching the rest of us get our asses kicked." That was from Chris, directed at Josiah.

Josiah gave him as serene and meaningful a smile as he could manage. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, Chris. It may not look it, but I am indeed doing my part from this excellent vantage point." He patted the bar beside him and leaned more comfortably against it.

Chris snorted, and then dug a kerchief from his pocket to swipe at the blood on his face.

"Right." Gazing around the trashed saloon irritably, he said, "How about you do your part and help clean up this mess?"

As Chris moved off to check on the rest of their seven, Josiah pushed off the bar and stretched. His back still twinged a bit, promising a nasty ache later, after he'd spent a few hours hauling semi-conscious, drunk ranch hands down to the jail.

Bryar knelt to pick up the ranch boss' gun. Standing again, he flipped open the cylinder and let the bullets fall out into his hand. Empty gun and bullets all got set on the bar. He didn't do it deliberately; it seemed rote, like a precaution he took out of habit.

It was a thing Josiah thought a bit curious, seeing as Bryar didn't appear to be carrying any sort of weapon apart from the hunting knife tucked discreetly in his boot.

"You ever shot a man, Mr. Bryar?" Josiah said.

The question caught the young man off guard, which was Josiah's intention. From the mixed expressions that crossed Bryar's face, Josiah wagered the answer was yes, but that it hadn't been done without regret.

"I told you I was out in gold country," Bryar said. "What with the sort of people you had sneaking around out there, looking for strikes to steal... Of me and my friends, only a couple of us knew how to even use a gun. Kind of had to make up for the couple who didn't." His hand had settled against his hip, the way a hand might do if it was used to resting on a gun there. Catching himself, Bryar jerked his hand back up to scratch his fingertips through his few days' worth of beard scruff. "Wasn't something I made a habit of, though."

"Good habit not to get into," Josiah said.

He saw Bryar's eyes move briefly to the holstered gun at Josiah's hip, that Josiah had neither drawn nor even reached for during the brawl.

"Yeah," Bryar said. "I guess you'd know."

Josiah studied the kid for a moment. It wasn't that Josiah believed one could take the measure of a man just from brawling with him in a saloon fight...

No, actually, Josiah did in fact believe that. Keeping a cool head in a brawl; stepping in to help the right people; sharing his whiskey willingly -- all admirable qualities in a man, Josiah felt.

"Since you aren't in any hurry to get back to Chicago," Josiah said. "And you have decided against ranch work, maybe you'd like to give us a hand here."

Bryar scanned the room critically, taking in the groaning bodies, busted furniture, and J.D. and Buck arguing good-naturedly over J.D.'s crushed hat over in the corner. He shrugged.

"Sure. I can help you folks clean up."

Josiah nodded. "Well, there is that. But I was actually wondering --" He smiled broadly and, he hoped, encouragingly. The Lord did work in mysterious ways, but He also benefited from good salesmanship among His disciples. "You ever give any thought to a career in frontier law enforcement?"

*


End file.
